Socket lingered a moment longer before retreating, closing the door behind him.The brief interruption had broken some of the tension, though.Mustang exhaled slowly, running a hand over his beard.
"You've always been level-headed," he said finally."One of the reasons you're our treasurer.You don't make emotional decisions."
"Nothing emotional about keeping my word," I replied."Or expecting the club to keep theirs."
He studied me a moment longer, then nodded once."I'll put out feelers.See if any of our police contacts have heard anything about a missing persons case matching your new family.But," he raised a finger in warning, "this doesn't become our primary focus.We've got the Martinelli shipment coming in Friday.That takes priority."
It wasn't everything I wanted, but it was a start.I nodded, accepting the compromise for now."Understood."
“And Razor?"Mustang's voice stopped me as I started to rise."Don't let this marriage cloud your judgment.Club comes first.Always has, always will."
I met his gaze steadily, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.The club had been my life for fifteen years.My family.My purpose.But now I had Ophelia and Dante waiting for me at home, depending on me in ways no brother ever had.
"I'll handle the Martinelli shipment," I said instead of answering his implied question."Just like always."
As I turned to leave, I caught my reflection in the cloudy mirror hanging on the chapel wall.Same cut.Same patches.Same face.But the man looking back at me wasn't quite the same Razor who'd walked into that motel room three days ago.Not anymore.
Ophelia
I smoothed Dante's hair away from his forehead, his eyes already heavy with sleep as I perched on the edge of his new race car bed.The room felt alien yet welcoming, pulled straight from a life I'd never allowed myself to imagine.A safe place.A room designed specifically for my son's happiness.He clutched Razor-saurus to his chest, the stuffed dinosaur already an essential part of his bedtime routine though we'd only had him a few days.I began to sing softly, the lullaby my grandmother taught me before she died, before my parents became the cold, controlling people who'd happily hand their grandson to a monster if it meant maintaining appearances.
"Hush little baby, don't say a word..."
Dante's eyelids fluttered, fighting sleep the way he always did."Mom?"he mumbled, interrupting my song.
"Yes, baby?"
"Are we staying here forever now?"His voice held no fear, just curiosity.
"Yes," I said, trying to infuse the word with more certainty than I felt."This is our home now."
"With Razor?"His small fingers stroked the dinosaur's soft blue spikes.
"With Razor," I confirmed, the reality of our situation still surreal even as I spoke it aloud."He's...he's your dad now, remember?"
Dante nodded sleepily."He makes good pillow forts."As if this single quality was all the qualification needed for fatherhood.
I smiled despite the tightness in my chest."Yes, he does."
"Better than...the other one."He didn't say Tyler's name.Never did anymore, a small act of self-protection that broke my heart every time I noticed it.
"Much better," I agreed, continuing to stroke his hair until his breathing deepened and evened out."We're safe now," I whispered, as much to reassure myself as my sleeping son."We're safe."
Once certain he was asleep, I carefully adjusted his blanket and slipped from the room, leaving the door cracked open.Alone now, with Dante settled and Razor still at his mysterious club meeting, I took the opportunity to explore our new home more thoroughly.
The house felt both empty and full—empty of people but full of Razor's presence.Everything reflected his personality: practical, orderly, with an undercurrent of controlled strength.The kitchen drawers contained neatly organized utensils.The refrigerator held basics: eggs, milk, sandwich fixings, beer.Nothing expired, nothing excessive.The bathroom cabinet revealed similar precision: medications arranged by type, first aid supplies ready for an emergency.
I ran my fingers along the spines of books on the living room shelf—motorcycle repair manuals, military history, a few thrillers.A drawer in the entryway table contained receipts and warranties, all filed by date.Even his junk mail was neatly stacked, waiting for disposal.
This man, this virtual stranger who was now my husband, lived with a discipline I found both comforting and intimidating.His organization reassured me, the orderly space carrying the quiet confidence of a man who controlled his environment instead of weaponizing chaos the way Tyler always had.
I jumped at the sudden roar of a motorcycle engine approaching the house, my body tensing automatically.I'd need to get used to that sound, I realized.It wasn't a threat anymore—it was Razor returning home.Home to me.To us.
The security system beeped as the front door opened.I hovered near the kitchen entryway, watching as Razor disabled the alarm with practiced efficiency, his broad shoulders rigid beneath his leather cut, jaw tight with tension I could read even from across the room.
"Everything okay?"I asked, keeping my voice low, mindful of Dante sleeping down the hall.
Razor looked up, seeming almost surprised to find me there."Yeah.Club stuff."He shrugged out of his cut, hanging it carefully on a hook by the door."Dante asleep?"
